by M. C. Dutton
Feeling cocky and almost not caring, Jazz retorted, ‘What are you, fucking Superman? Or just a fucking villain doing it for money?’
The Bird Man was not happy and moved to give Jazz a slap for his disrespect. He stopped short as Jazz flinched and ducked.
The laugh from The Bird Man started in his feet and worked its way up to his belly and chest. The booming laugh shocked Jazz more than the near slap. ‘You’re such a tosspot, Singh. Watch your step, otherwise you’ll get a slap that will send you into the next room.’
It felt a near thing and Jazz tried to calm down and stop shaking. The Bird Man was a frightening figure; his hands were enormous. One swipe from them and Jazz would be knocked across the room. He needed to stay calm and respectful to find out where Ash was now.
The Bird Man had made up his mind. DC Kumar was going to be topped. He couldn’t be doing with such a disrespectful, offensive and bloody nuisance of a detective. He figured that to hand Kumar over to Singh would cause him all sorts of problems. There would be questions to answer and this Singh had no respect for who he was. He didn’t need this in his life. The officers watching him were respectful, and kept their distance. But Singh was too-off-the-wall and he didn’t want him messing things up.
It would be easy to get rid of the detective. He could be topped and buried within hours and no one would ever find him. Then life could go back to some sort of normality. He couldn’t be bothered with it all. Singh’s attitude had sealed Kumar’s fate. Freddie Link was responsible for taking the detective and he had now disappeared so, hand on heart, The Bird Man could say he knew nothing that could help.
Jazz started again. ‘It is my job to solve murders.’ The Bird Man laughed at this but said nothing. Jazz gave him a look of what’s so funny, but The Bird Man didn’t respond, so Jazz continued. ‘I worked on the case of the murder of Laura Kent and so I have a vested interest in finding out who killed John Carpenter.’
The Bird Man interjected. ‘I’ll buy that reason.’
Jazz nodded and continued. ‘So my colleague had the murder of Barry Jessop to solve and it was another strange murder – will you agree with that?’
The Bird Man, following all this, just said ‘Yep!’
‘I know you did the murders,’ said Jazz. ‘I can’t prove it, but I would like to know why.’
The Bird Man was relaxed now that he had made his mind up. He had always been so careful not to give the police anything on him and to have one of his premises used in this way would tie him into Kumar’s kidnapping. Freddie got what he deserved but now he had to sort this mess out. A phone call later would get it sorted. For now he sat back and parried with this little bit of shit who thought he was so clever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Does the worm turn?
Jazz was feeling uncomfortable. This was too nice and too sweet. The Bird Man should be spitting nails at his accusations but he had this Mona Lisa smile which was fucking annoying, and it felt as if Jazz was going to be sent on his way. He needed to bring The Bird Man back to a point where they could talk. It felt as if he had lost Ash and he just couldn’t let that happen. For a moment panic took over and then, in one of those blinding flashes, he knew what he had to do.
All the while The Bird Man leaned back, watching Jazz’s discomfort and enjoying it. It was going to be uncomfortable – the truth always was – but Jazz had to bite the bullet. He owed it to Ash.
He looked up at The Bird Man and said, ‘I am the biggest prick of the first order of pricks. I am an idiot, I waltz into things I know nothing about and fumble around. I think I am a lucky bugger, I often get it right but I know I cause mayhem on the way. I let Ash, that’s DC Kumar, down. I was supposed to puppy-walk him through his start as a Detective Constable, but again I seem to have let him down.’
The Bird Man listened to this piece of self-righteous shit and his response was, ‘So you have lost another one, have you, Singh? Seems like you do this a lot. No wonder you are the laughing stock of the Metropolitan Police.’ He laughed.
Jazz hadn’t expected sympathy but it was a fucking spiky response and he didn’t like it. But he had to keep sweet. ‘Don’t know if I am a laughing stock, more a piss head with a problem.’
The Bird Man laughed; he liked that.
Now was the time to play for something of interest. ‘You have got me summed up, Mr Bentall, and quite honestly I have no power here as far as the Metropolitan Police are concerned. You are hands off but I expect you know that.’
The Bird Man just looked and said nothing. Of course he knew; he knew everything that went on in his town.
‘I have spoken to the team watching you and said things to them to look at regarding you but they just tell me to fuck off. They don’t trust me at all. Not many do but I am a good detective when I get going.’
The Bird Man laughed again. Jazz thought this was going quite well.
‘I can’t prove you had anything to do with the three murders. They were so creative and unusual we just couldn’t figure out why they had been killed in that way. I’ve spoken to James Kent who gave me the clue that he had not only organized John Carpenter’s death but that he’d stated how he was to be killed and wanted a video of it as well. That is true hatred and revenge. The same goes for Barry Jessop. No self-respecting gangster is going to bother to torture and kill someone in quite that way. There are much easier ways of doing it.’
The Bird Man nodded in agreement.
‘Then there’s Johnny Peters. How bloody creative can anyone get in nearly drowning him and, just as he’s about to drown, the tide turns and he thinks he’s saved, only to have a bloody great fucking barge motor over his head, drowning and burying him at the same time. That was all on video too. It was fucking brilliant in a terrible way. We haven’t figured out who would have commissioned his murder. Peter Daly was obviously responsible for commissioning Barry Jessop.’
The Bird Man sat motionless, just listening.
‘I can’t prove any of this. I’m never going to be able to prove it. James Kent will never say whom he spoke to and who organized John Carpenter’s death. He thinks that person is a knight in shining armour and he’s never going to reveal anything. His alibi is rock solid so nothing to work on there. The same I think goes for Peter Daly. To hear from you what happened can go no further and I would just like to know how it worked.’
‘Why the fuck would I talk to you about anything?’ asked The Bird Man brusquely. Jazz wasn’t handling this right. Those questions should come later. He needed to go on another tack. He needed to find Ash first. He needed reassurance he was still alive. He was totally convinced Ash was being held somewhere, or worse, but he wasn’t going there.
‘Look, I need to find Ash, my DC. I owe it to him to keep him safe. If I am a prick of the first order then Ash is my best student. I know he has fannied around upsetting everyone.’ With an ironic smile, Jazz added, ‘I don’t know where he got that from!’
The Bird Man laughed at that.
‘Look,’ said Jazz in a placatory way, trying to get on the best side of The Bird Man, ‘can you please help me to find Ash. He’s a good family man with two genius children, or so he says. He loves his family and he doesn’t deserve to die. If he’s being held anywhere, I know it will be difficult to let him go because he might have seen someone’s face, but I can keep him quiet. I promise on all that is holy and on the khanda that I will get him to look on this as a blip and we can all move on.’
The Bird Man didn’t look moved by this plea.
‘You’re the Godfather of London, Mr Bentall. You can do anything you want and I know you can help me.’ Jazz was clutching at straws now but it seemed to have a slight effect. The Bird Man liked the Godfather of London inference. Jazz knew he would. But it wasn’t getting him anywhere with Ash. There was no sign that he could or would help. Jazz tried to put himself in The Bird Man’s place and he offered sympathy for the choices he had to make. ‘Perhaps,’ he offered hesitantly, ‘it’s some
times easier to get rid of someone than return him.’ He looked at The Bird Man pointedly and The Bird Man looked back.
Jazz was beginning to sweat. He had to use his ace card and he didn’t want to but nothing else was working. The Bird Man was getting bored and looked ready to tell him to leave. ‘I think there is a trade-off here,’ was Jazz’s opening gambit.
The Bird Man raised his eyebrows and laughed at this stupid fucker. What had he got to trade? Nothing! He was sure of that.
Jazz was on such dodgy ground. He was in The Bird Man of Barking’s domain, no one knew he was there, except possibly Tom, and he was about to blackmail The Bird Man. He had to be either mad, stupid or just plain brilliant. He went for the last one, of course. With a rum smile he thought that even at this dangerous time his ego was asking for applause.
‘Well?’ asked the Bird Man. ‘I’m waiting for this revelation.’ The sarcasm was very near the top and Jazz thought he was going to wipe the smug smile of The Bird Man’s face.
Jazz reminded him that he had been to Paglesham to find the barge that had drowned and buried Johnny Peters all in one go. Whilst there he had talked to a local who’d given him some very interesting information. There was aggregate being taken from the Crossrail project, which was building major new railway connections under Central London and it was brought to Wallasea Island. ‘Apparently the RSPB have organized this and since 2008 aggregate has been brought from London to Wallasea to build up the land to take it above sea level, to protect the birdlife there.’
The Bird Man thanked him sarcastically for the history and asked what his point was.
‘I made some little enquiries. You own B4, a transport company, and you are well known for your trucks. But very little is known about your barges. You own the barges taking the aggregate up from London to Wallasea. One: it puts you in the frame for the Johnny Peters murder. It was one of your barges that killed him. Two: I just wonder, and no one has thought about this, but I wonder how many bodies might be found on Wallasea Island if searched. A lot of people have gone missing in your part of town and no bodies have ever been found.’ He could see that The Bird Man was interested now.
‘It has been quite a few years that bodies could have been dumped amongst the aggregate and then spread on Wallasea Island. Who spread the aggregate on Wallasea Island? Well, bless me and all who sail in me… You seem to have the contract for diggers and dumper trucks.’ Now The Bird Man was sitting up and taking note. Jazz was enjoying this. He shouldn’t but he had nothing to lose now.
He went on. ‘I don’t care about Wallasea Island and I don’t care about your barges, I don’t care what might or might not be on Wallasea Island. All I will say is, beware the land gets to be so rich with nutriments that magnificent plants grow there. Someone could ask questions!’ Jazz had to laugh at that, but the Bird Man was not laughing. Jazz continued, ‘I care about DC Ashiv Kumar. I want him with me in one piece, alive and kicking. That’s my negotiation. If not, I will become your biggest pain in the neck. I know no one listens to me and I know I have a bad reputation but believe me, if I shout long and hard enough someone will listen eventually. Now, you don’t want that, do you?’
The Bird Man got up and Jazz shrank back a little, wondering what was going to happen.
The Bird Man told him to stay put: he had to go and see a man about a dog. Jazz didn’t know if that meant he was going to the toilet, or if he was organizing for Jazz to be topped because he had gone too far. It could have been either. In the meantime he had space to sit and think about what he had just said to The Bird Man of Barking. The bravado and bravery left him for a minute. If nothing else he had seriously pissed him off but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Ash back. He patted his jacket and felt for the hip flask in his inside pocket. It was half full of that wonderful clear liquid called vodka. He gave up a prayer of thanks and spent the rest of the time just praying that Ash was safe and that he would be returned. He finished the flask too quickly and wished he had more. He didn’t know what to expect when The Bird Man returned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Let sleeping dogs lie
Ash tried to sleep. He didn’t know what to make of anything. He lived in a deep, painful fear he thought he would never feel. He prayed for strength, he prayed for everything. It didn’t seem to help. He’d already said goodbye to his children and his wife and his mother in his head. He had cried at the thought of never seeing his children go to university or never feeling his wife’s hair again, silky and soft, smelling of flowers. He would often lie and look at her and touch her hair when she was sleeping. He realized he loved her very much. His mother could be difficult but she loved him and was so proud of him. She made him feel such a clever, brave and important man. He loved her for her confidence in him at times when he didn’t have any confidence in himself.
He knew how he had got himself into this situation. He was so ashamed that he’d worked outside the rules as stipulated by the police, and it made him feel useless. What would his mother think of him when they found his body and discovered he hadn’t even told his superior what he was doing and had had no back-up? His children wouldn’t be proud of him later in life. They would be told their father had been a numpty and he couldn’t bear that. His mind wandered and he knew his beautiful wife would be surrounded by single men there to help her through her troubled times as a widow. He wept tears of jealousy and frustration at the thought. He didn’t want to die.
He got water and food at regular intervals. But he had nothing to take his mind of his situation and it was torture to him. He wondered if Jazz had noticed he wasn’t around. He had no idea what the time was. The fact that he’d had a couple of meals led him to think it was the next day, at least, but he didn’t know. They had taken his watch from him, his mobile, wallet and anything they found on him. He hoped the Met Police had undertaken a manhunt for him using helicopters, dogs, horses, all the street police and of course the cars. He reckoned someone would find him soon. He had no idea that his fate hung in the balance with Jazz alone and that he’d made quite a pig’s ear of trying to find him.
Something different had happened within the last few hours. Instead of someone just coming in with food and dumping it, he was told by a voice through the closed door to turn his back and keep looking at the shuttered window until told otherwise. At first he was very scared. He wondered if he was going to be shot in the back and every instinct in his body wanted to turn around and see his attacker. The voice had made it very clear that if he did turn around it would be the last thing he ever did. So he spent his time keeping control of his urge to turn. He heard noises behind him and then the door close. He was told he could turn around again. When he looked there was fish and chips waiting for him and some water. God, he was so relieved. In fact he cried with the release of tension.
On reflection, after he had eaten, he thought that perhaps that was a good move. Why hide what he looked like if they were going to kill him. Freddie Link had shown himself to Ash but he hadn’t seen Freddie Link since. He hoped – no, he had to believe – this was a good sign. Perhaps he wouldn’t be killed after all. Perhaps, he thought, he was just kidding himself. Alone in the room with nothing to distract him, his mind was playing huge tricks on him and now he didn’t know what to think. He was not a brave man like John Wayne. He was a normal man and not a hero type. He had almost decided to leave the police force if he ever got out of this and lived. He had had enough of danger and he was sure his wife would prefer him to have a 9-5 job. He even thought about opening a corner shop. He knew everyone would take the mickey but he would work hard and there was money to be made there. He spent many hours just trying to visualize a shop that was his and what he would sell. It kept him sane.
Hours later there was a knock at the door and he was told to turn his back and look at the shuttered window again. He did this wondering if it was more food. He didn’t think it was long ago since he had his fish and chips but then time meant nothing to him at the
moment. He couldn’t even see if it was daylight or nighttime outside.
As he sat looking at the window someone entered the room and came up behind him. Just as Ash was about to turn around in terror, as the man had never come so close to him before, a blindfold was put over his eyes and his hands were pulled quickly behind his back and tied. Next he was gagged, as he begged his captor to let him go, saying he wouldn’t tell anyone and he knew nothing. It felt like a sack had been put over his head; it was rough and smelt of shit. Before he could think he was jerked upright and told to move.
His captor said nothing; all he could hear was the heavy breathing of the person who was pushing him forward and through an open door. The fear and terror erupted and, mumbling through his gag, he tried to beg his captor to let him go. He knew he was going to be killed. There was no alternative and for a few moments he was consumed by panic. He was held tightly and he did as he was told; he had no power to break away and escape. Reality kicked in and suddenly he just gave up; he had lost his energy and hope. It felt all over and his life was gone. He moved as if in a trance. He was dead meat anyway. He repeated in his head a fervent prayer to God to keep him safe and return him to his family alive. He whimpered as he was led down some stairs, which got him a slap across his head, and he was told to shut it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
If I can help somebody
The Bird Man of Barking returned. He looked comfortably resigned. Jazz hoped that was a good sign but he waited to see what he said.
Barry Bentall was in control of the situation and he would keep it that way. He told Jazz that he had made enquiries regarding DC Ashiv Kumar and where he might be. He would find out soon what the response was from his contacts. Jazz thought that sounded hopeful.